Page 17 of Feral King

His eyes flick to me, taking a quick assessment, then they slide back to Julian.

“Ethan,” Julian says.

I don’t know who this man is, but he must be high up on Julian’s list if he’s able to barge into his office without Julian protesting.

“Lyra, this is Ethan Kang, my head of security.” Julian says, introducing us. Ethan nods politely. “Ethan, Lyra Thibodeaux, head of event planning.”

I open my mouth to say, “Nice to meet you,” but Ethan’s already turned his attention back to Julian.

“We have a problem,” Ethan says. “The Morozov syndicate just declared for Dobrov. They’re backing his motion to contest your leadership at the council.”

The atmosphere shifts and Julian’s posture changes.

“How many votes does that give him?”

“Not enough. But it’s one more than he had yesterday. And it’s one that we didn’t expect to lose.”

Julian nods slowly. Behind his eyes I can see him recalculating, then he turns his attention to me.

“Lyra, go set up your office. The foundation binder has everything you need to get started. We’ll speak again this afternoon.”

“Of course.” I gather the binder from the chair and nod at Ethan. He nods back, and I hurry out.

Anya catches my eye from her desk and raises her eyebrows, then mouths, “All good?”

I give her a thumbs-up, but the truth of the matter is I don’t know. The meeting had been short, and I’m already learning how shaky things are underneath Julian’s feet.

And therefore, mine.

I hurry down one corridor and then another until I find my office. I slide into the chair behind my new desk, taking a second to allow myself a brief view of the city through my office windows before turning my attention to the binder.

But I don’t read a single word. All I can think about is the way Julian was looking at me before Ethan walked in, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, like he wanted to stop time for thirty seconds just to see what would happen if he kissed me.

I shake my head, pick up my pen, and start reading.

There’s work to do.

CHAPTER 5

JULIAN

That evening…

Alexander is seated at the far end of the boardroom table. He is dressed, as always, in a sharp, expensive suit, his posture carefully arranged to project confidence.

He looks like a man who’s already won and simply needs to take care of this little formality.

That’s part of his gift—embodying the outcome he wants until people start to believe it.

The rest of the seats are occupied by the board, men and women who may or may not be against me.

It’s time to find out.

The floor of the room is Italian marble, the floor-to-ceiling windows look out over Manhattan as the sun sets. The east wall is bare, aside from a towering portrait of my father, who no one here deserves to sit beneath.

I stand at the head of the table for several long moments, letting the silence do the work.

Finally someone cracks.